BOOK XXIIIARGUMENTUlysses with some difficulty, convinces Penelope of his identity, who at length, overcome by force of evidence, receives him to her arms with transport. He entertains her with a recital of his adventures, and in his narration the principal events of the poem are recapitulated. In the morning, Ulysses, Telemachus, the herdsman and the swine-herd depart into the country.And now, with exultation loud the nurseAgain ascended, eager to apprizeThe Queen of her Ulysses’ safe return;Joy braced her knees, with nimbleness of youthShe stepp’d, and at her ear, her thus bespake.Arise, Penelope! dear daughter, seeWith thy own eyes thy daily wish fulfill’d.Ulysses is arrived; hath reach’d at lastHis native home, and all those suitors proudHath slaughter’d, who his family distress’d,10His substance wasted, and controul’d his son.To whom Penelope discrete replied.Dear nurse! the Gods have surely ta’en awayThy judgment; they transform the wise to fools,And fools conduct to wisdom, and have marr’dThy intellect, who wast discrete before.Why wilt thou mock me, wretched as I am,With tales extravagant? and why disturbThose slumbers sweet that seal’d so fast mine eyes?For such sweet slumbers have I never known20Since my Ulysses on his voyage sail’dTo that bad city never to be named.Down instant to thy place again—begone—For had another of my maidens daredDisturb my sleep with tidings wild as these,I had dismiss’d her down into the houseMore roughly; but thine age excusesthee.To whom the venerable matron thus.I mock thee not, my child; no—he is come—Himself, Ulysses, even as I say,30That stranger, object of the scorn of all.Telemachus well knew his sire arrived,But prudently conceal’d the tidings, soTo insure the more the suitors’ punishment.So Euryclea she transported heard,And springing from the bed, wrapp’d in her armsThe ancient woman shedding tears of joy,And in wing’d accents ardent thus replied.Ah then, dear nurse inform me! tell me true!Hath he indeed arriv’d as thou declar’st?40How dared he to assail alone that bandOf shameless ones, for ever swarming here?Then Euryclea, thus, matron belov’d.I nothing saw or knew; but only heardGroans of the wounded; in th’ interior houseWe trembling sat, and ev’ry door was fast.Thus all remain’d till by his father sent,Thy own son call’d me forth. Going, I foundUlysses compass’d by the slaughter’d dead.They cover’d wide the pavement, heaps on heaps.50It would have cheer’d thy heart to have beheldThy husband lion-like with crimson stainsOf slaughter and of dust all dappled o’er;Heap’d in the portal, at this moment, lieTheir bodies, and he fumigates, meantime,The house with sulphur and with flames of fire,And hath, himself, sent me to bid thee down.Follow me, then, that ye may give your heartsTo gladness, both, for ye have much endured;But the event, so long your soul’s desire,60Is come; himself hath to his household GodsAlive return’d, thee and his son he findsUnharm’d and at your home, nor hath he leftUnpunish’d one of all his enemies.Her answer’d, then, Penelope discrete.Ah dearest nurse! indulge not to excessThis dang’rous triumph. Thou art well apprizedHow welcome his appearance here would proveTo all, but chief, to me, and to his son,Fruit of our love. But these things are not so;70Some God, resentful of their evil deeds,And of their biting contumely severe,Hath slain those proud; for whether noble guestArrived or base, alike they scoff’d at all,And for their wickedness have therefore died.But my Ulysses distant far, I know,From Greece hath perish’d, and returns no more.To whom thus Euryclea, nurse belov’d.What word my daughter had escaped thy lips,Who thus affirm’st thy husband, now within80And at his own hearth-side, for ever lost?Canst thou be thus incredulous? Hear again—I give thee yet proof past dispute, his scarImprinted by a wild-boar’s iv’ry tusk.Laving him I remark’d it, and desired,Myself, to tell thee, but he, ever-wise,Compressing with both hands my lips, forbad.Come, follow me. My life shall be the pledge.If I deceive thee, kill me as thou wilt.To whom Penelope, discrete, replied.90Ah, dearest nurse, sagacious as thou art,Thou little know’st to scan the counsels wiseOf the eternal Gods. But let us seekMy son, however, that I may beholdThe suitors dead, and him by whom they died.So saying, she left her chamber, musing muchIn her descent, whether to interrogateHer Lord apart, or whether to imprint,At once, his hands with kisses and his brows.O’erpassing light the portal-step of stone100She enter’d. He sat opposite, illumedBy the hearth’s sprightly blaze, and close beforeA pillar of the dome, waiting with eyesDowncast, till viewing him, his noble spouseShould speak to him; but she sat silent long,Her faculties in mute amazement held.By turns she riveted her eyes on his,And, seeing him so foul attired, by turnsShe recognized him not; then spake her sonTelemachus, and her silence thus reprov’d.110My mother! ah my hapless and my mostObdurate mother! wherefore thus aloofShunn’st thou my father, neither at his sideSitting affectionate, nor utt’ring word?Another wife lives not who could endureSuch distance from her husband new-return’dTo his own country in the twentieth year,After much hardship; but thy heart is stillAs ever, less impressible than stone,To whom Penelope, discrete, replied.120I am all wonder, O my son; my soulIs stunn’d within me; pow’r to speak to himOr to interrogate him have I none,Or ev’n to look on him; but if indeedHe be Ulysses, and have reach’d his home,I shall believe it soon, by proof convincedOf signs known only to himself and me.She said; then smiled the Hero toil-inured,And in wing’d accents thus spake to his son.Leave thou, Telemachus, thy mother here130To sift and prove me; she will know me soonMore certainly; she sees me ill-attiredAnd squalid now; therefore she shews me scorn,And no belief hath yet that I am he.But we have need, thou and myself, of deepDeliberation. If a man have slainOne only citizen, who leaves behindFew interested to avenge his death,Yet, flying, he forsakes both friends and home;But we have slain the noblest Princes far140Of Ithaca, on whom our city mostDepended; therefore, I advise thee, think!Him, prudent, then answer’d Telemachus.Be that thy care, my father! for reportProclaimstheeshrewdest of mankind, with whomIn ingenuity may none compare.Lead thou; to follow thee shall be our partWith prompt alacrity; nor shall, I judge,Courage be wanting to our utmost force.Thus then replied Ulysses, ever-wise.150To me the safest counsel and the bestSeems this. First wash yourselves, and put ye onYour tunics; bid ye, next, the maidens takeTheir best attire, and let the bard divineHarping melodious play a sportive dance,That, whether passenger or neighbour near,All may imagine nuptials held within.So shall not loud report that we have slainAll those, alarm the city, till we gainOur woods and fields, where, once arriv’d, such plans160We will devise, as Jove shall deign to inspire.He spake, and all, obedient, in the bathFirst laved themselves, then put their tunics on;The damsels also dress’d, and the sweet bard,Harping melodious, kindled strong desireIn all, of jocund song and graceful dance.The palace under all its vaulted roofRemurmur’d to the feet of sportive youthsAnd cinctured maidens, while no few abroad,Hearing such revelry within, remark’d—170The Queen with many wooers, weds at last.Ah fickle and unworthy fair! too frailAlways to keep inviolate the houseOf her first Lord, and wait for his return.So spake the people; but they little knewWhat had befall’n. Eurynome, meantime,With bath and unction serv’d the illustrious ChiefUlysses, and he saw himself attiredRoyally once again in his own house.Then, Pallas over all his features shed180Superior beauty, dignified his formWith added amplitude, and pour’d his curlsLike hyacinthine flow’rs down from his brows.As when some artist by Minerva madeAnd Vulcan, wise to execute all tasksIngenious, borders silver with a wreathOf gold, accomplishing a graceful work,Such grace the Goddess o’er his ample chestCopious diffused, and o’er his manly brows.He, godlike, stepping from the bath, resumed190His former seat magnificent, and satOpposite to the Queen, to whom he said.Penelope! the Gods to thee have giv’nOf all thy sex, the most obdurate heart.Another wife lives not who could endureSuch distance from her husband new-return’dTo his own country in the twentieth year,After such hardship. But prepare me, nurse,A bed, for solitary I must sleep,Since she is iron, and feels not for me.200Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.I neither magnify thee, sir! nor yetDepreciate thee, nor is my wonder suchAs hurries me at once into thy arms,Though my remembrance perfectly retains,Such as he was, Ulysses, when he sail’dOn board his bark from Ithaca—Go, nurse,Prepare his bed, but not within the wallsOf his own chamber built with his ownhands.Spread it without, and spread it well with warm210Mantles, with fleeces, and with richest rugs.So spake she, proving him,108and not untouch’dWith anger at that word, thus he replied.Penelope, that order grates my ear.Who hath displaced my bed? The task were hardE’en to an artist; other than a GodNone might with ease remove it; as for man,It might defy the stoutest in his primeOf youth, to heave it to a different spot.For in that bed elaborate, a sign,220A special sign consists; I was myselfThe artificer; I fashion’d it alone.Within the court a leafy olive grewLofty, luxuriant, pillar-like in girth.Around this tree I built, with massy stonesCemented close, my chamber, roof’d it o’er,And hung the glutinated portals on.I lopp’d the ample foliage and the boughs,And sev’ring near the root its solid bole,Smooth’d all the rugged stump with skilful hand,230And wrought it to a pedestal well squaredAnd modell’d by the line. I wimbled, next,The frame throughout, and from the olive-stumpBeginning, fashion’d the whole bed aboveTill all was finish’d, plated o’er with gold,With silver, and with ivory, and beneathClose interlaced with purple cordage strong.Such sign I give thee. But if still it standUnmoved, or if some other, sev’ring sheerThe olive from its bottom, have displaced240My bed—that matter is best known to thee.He ceas’d; she, conscious of the sign so plainGiv’n by Ulysses, heard with flutt’ring heartAnd fault’ring knees that proof. Weeping she ranDirect toward him, threw her arms aroundThe Hero, kiss’d his forehead, and replied.Ah my Ulysses! pardon me—frown not—Thou, who at other times hast ever shewnSuperior wisdom! all our griefs have flow’dFrom the Gods’ will; they envied us the bliss250Of undivided union sweet enjoy’dThrough life, from early youth to latest age.No. Be not angry now; pardon the faultThat I embraced thee not as soon as seen,For horror hath not ceased to overwhelmMy soul, lest some false alien should, perchance,Beguile me, for our house draws num’rous such.Jove’s daughter, Argive Helen, ne’er had givenFree entertainment to a stranger’s love,Had she foreknown that the heroic sons260Of Greece would bring her to her home again.But heav’n incited her to that offence,Who never, else, had even in her thoughtHarbour’d the foul enormity, from whichOriginated even our distress.But now, since evident thou hast describedOur bed, which never mortal yet beheld,Ourselves except and Actoris my ownAttendant, giv’n me when I left my homeBy good Icarius, and who kept the door,270Though hard to be convinced, at last I yield.So saying, she awaken’d in his soulPity and grief; and folding in his armsHis blameless consort beautiful, he wept.Welcome as land appears to those who swim,Whose gallant bark Neptune with rolling wavesAnd stormy winds hath sunk in the wide sea,A mariner or two, perchance, escapeThe foamy flood, and, swimming, reach the land,Weary indeed, and with incrusted brine280All rough, but oh, how glad to climb the coast!So welcome in her eyes Ulysses seem’d,Around whose neck winding her snowy arms,She clung as she would loose him never more.Thus had they wept till rosy-finger’d mornHad found them weeping, but Minerva check’dNight’s almost finish’d course, and held, meantime,The golden dawn close pris’ner in the Deep,Forbidding her to lead her coursers forth,Lampus and Phaëton that furnish light290To all the earth, and join them to the yoke.Then thus, Ulysses to Penelope.My love; we have not yet attain’d the closeOf all our sufferings, but unmeasured toilArduous remains, which I must still atchieve.For so the spirit of the Theban seerInform’d me, on that day, when to enquireOf mine and of my people’s safe returnI journey’d down to Pluto’s drear abode.But let us hence to bed, there to enjoy300Tranquil repose. My love, make no delay.Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.Thou shalt to bed at whatsoever timeThy soul desires, since the immortal GodsGive thee to me and to thy home again.But, thou hast spoken from the seer of ThebesOf arduous toils yet unperform’d; declareWhat toils? Thou wilt disclose them, as I judge,Hereafter, and why not disclose them now?To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.310Ah conversant with woe! why would’st thou learnThat tale? but I will tell it thee at large.Thou wilt not hear with joy, nor shall myselfWith joy rehearse it; for he bade me seekCity after city, bearing, as I go,A shapely oar, till I shall find, at length,A people who the sea know not, nor eatFood salted; they trim galley crimson-prow’dHave ne’er beheld, nor yet smooth-shaven oarWith which the vessel wing’d scuds o’er the waves.320He gave me also this authentic sign,Which I will tell thee. In what place soe’erI chance to meet a trav’ler who shall nameThe oar on my broad shoulder borne, a van;109He bade me, planting it on the same spot,Worship the King of Ocean with a bull,A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seekMy home again, and sacrifice at homeAn hecatomb to the immortal GodsInhabitants of the expanse above.330So shall I die, at length, the gentlest deathRemote from Ocean; it shall find me late,In soft serenity of age, the ChiefOf a blest people.—Thus he prophesied.Him answer’d then Penelope discrete.If heav’n appoint thee in old age a lotMore tranquil, hope thence springs of thy escapeSome future day from all thy threaten’d woes.Such was their mutual conf’rence sweet; meantimeEurynome and Euryclea dress’d340Their bed by light of the clear torch, and whenDispatchful they had spread it broad and deep,The ancient nurse to her own bed retired.Then came Eurynome, to whom in trustThe chambers appertain’d, and with a torchConducted them to rest; she introducedThe happy pair, and went; transported theyTo rites connubial intermitted long,And now recover’d, gave themselves again.110Meantime, the Prince, the herdsman, and the good350Eumæus, giving rest each to his feet,Ceased from the dance; they made the women ceaseAlso, and to their sev’ral chambers allWithin the twilight edifice repair’d.At length, with conjugal endearment bothSatiate, Ulysses tasted and his spouseThe sweets of mutual converse. She rehearsed,Noblest of women, all her num’rous woesBeneath that roof sustain’d, while she beheldThe profligacy of the suitor-throng,360Who in their wooing had consumed his herdsAnd fatted flocks, and drawn his vessels dry;While brave Ulysses, in his turn, to herRelated his successes and escapes,And his afflictions also; he told her all;She listen’d charm’d, nor slumber on his eyesFell once, or ere he had rehearsed the whole.Beginning, he discoursed, how, at the firstHe conquer’d in Ciconia, and thence reach’dThe fruitful shores of the Lotophagi;370The Cyclops’ deeds he told her next, and howHe well avenged on him his slaughter’d friendsWhom, pitiless, the monster had devour’d.How to the isle of Æolus he came,Who welcom’d him and safe dismiss’d him thence,Although not destin’d to regain so soonHis native land; for o’er the fishy deepLoud tempests snatch’d him sighing back again.How, also at Telepylus he arrived,Town of the Læstrygonians, who destroyed380His ships with all their mariners, his ownExcept, who in his sable bark escaped.Of guileful Circe too he spake, deep-skill’dIn various artifice, and how he reach’dWith sails and oars the squalid realms of death,Desirous to consult the prophet thereTheban Tiresias, and how there he view’dAll his companions, and the mother blandWho bare him, nourisher of his infant years.How, next he heard the Sirens in one strain390All chiming sweet, and how he reach’d the rocksErratic, Scylla and Charybdis dire,Which none secure from injury may pass.Then, how the partners of his voyage slewThe Sun’s own beeves, and how the Thund’rer JoveHurl’d down his smoky bolts into his bark,Depriving him at once of all his crew,Whose dreadful fate he yet, himself, escaped.How to Ogygia’s isle he came, where dweltThe nymph Calypso, who, enamour’d, wish’d400To espouse him, and within her spacious grotDetain’d, and fed, and promis’d him a lifeExempt for ever from the sap of age,But him moved not. How, also, he arrivedAfter much toil, on the Phæacian coast,Where ev’ry heart revered him as a God,And whence, enriching him with brass and gold,And costly raiment first, they sent him home.At this last word, oblivious slumber sweetFell on him, dissipating all his cares.410Meantime, Minerva, Goddess azure-eyed,On other thoughts intent, soon as she deem’dUlysses with connubial joys sufficed,And with sweet sleep, at once from Ocean rous’dThe golden-axled chariot of the mornTo illumine earth. Then from his fleecy couchThe Hero sprang, and thus his spouse enjoined.Oh consort dear! already we have striv’nAgainst our lot, till wearied with the toil,My painful absence, thou with ceaseless tears420Deploring, and myself in deep distressWithheld reluctant from my native shoresBy Jove and by the other pow’rs of heav’n.But since we have in this delightful bedMet once again, watch thou and keep secureAll my domestic treasures, and ere longI will replace my num’rous sheep destroy’dBy those imperious suitors, and the GreeksShall add yet others till my folds be fill’d.But to the woodlands go I now—to see430My noble father, who for my sake mournsContinual; as for thee, my love, althoughI know thee wise, I give thee thus in charge.The sun no sooner shall ascend, than fameShall wide divulge the deed that I have done,Slaying the suitors under my own roof.Thou, therefore, with thy maidens, sit retiredIn thy own chamber at the palace-top,Nor question ask, nor, curious, look abroad.He said, and cov’ring with his radiant arms440His shoulders, called Telemachus; he rousedEumæus and the herdsman too, and badeAll take their martial weapons in their hand.Not disobedient they, as he enjoin’d,Put armour on, and issued from the gatesUlysses at their head. The earth was nowEnlighten’d, but Minerva them in hasteLed forth into the fields, unseen by all.108The proof consisted in this—that the bed being attached to the stump of an olive tree still rooted, was immovable, and Ulysses having made it himself, no person present, he must needs be apprized of the impossibility of her orders, if he were indeed Ulysses; accordingly, this demonstration of his identity satisfies all her scruples.109Seethe noteon the same passage, Book XI.110Aristophanes the grammarian and Aristarchus chose that the Odyssey should end here; but the story is not properly concluded till the tumult occasioned by the slaughter of so many Princes being composed, Ulysses finds himself once more in peaceful possession of his country.
Ulysses with some difficulty, convinces Penelope of his identity, who at length, overcome by force of evidence, receives him to her arms with transport. He entertains her with a recital of his adventures, and in his narration the principal events of the poem are recapitulated. In the morning, Ulysses, Telemachus, the herdsman and the swine-herd depart into the country.
And now, with exultation loud the nurseAgain ascended, eager to apprizeThe Queen of her Ulysses’ safe return;Joy braced her knees, with nimbleness of youthShe stepp’d, and at her ear, her thus bespake.Arise, Penelope! dear daughter, seeWith thy own eyes thy daily wish fulfill’d.Ulysses is arrived; hath reach’d at lastHis native home, and all those suitors proudHath slaughter’d, who his family distress’d,10His substance wasted, and controul’d his son.To whom Penelope discrete replied.Dear nurse! the Gods have surely ta’en awayThy judgment; they transform the wise to fools,And fools conduct to wisdom, and have marr’dThy intellect, who wast discrete before.Why wilt thou mock me, wretched as I am,With tales extravagant? and why disturbThose slumbers sweet that seal’d so fast mine eyes?For such sweet slumbers have I never known20Since my Ulysses on his voyage sail’dTo that bad city never to be named.Down instant to thy place again—begone—For had another of my maidens daredDisturb my sleep with tidings wild as these,I had dismiss’d her down into the houseMore roughly; but thine age excusesthee.To whom the venerable matron thus.I mock thee not, my child; no—he is come—Himself, Ulysses, even as I say,30That stranger, object of the scorn of all.Telemachus well knew his sire arrived,But prudently conceal’d the tidings, soTo insure the more the suitors’ punishment.So Euryclea she transported heard,And springing from the bed, wrapp’d in her armsThe ancient woman shedding tears of joy,And in wing’d accents ardent thus replied.Ah then, dear nurse inform me! tell me true!Hath he indeed arriv’d as thou declar’st?40How dared he to assail alone that bandOf shameless ones, for ever swarming here?Then Euryclea, thus, matron belov’d.I nothing saw or knew; but only heardGroans of the wounded; in th’ interior houseWe trembling sat, and ev’ry door was fast.Thus all remain’d till by his father sent,Thy own son call’d me forth. Going, I foundUlysses compass’d by the slaughter’d dead.They cover’d wide the pavement, heaps on heaps.50It would have cheer’d thy heart to have beheldThy husband lion-like with crimson stainsOf slaughter and of dust all dappled o’er;Heap’d in the portal, at this moment, lieTheir bodies, and he fumigates, meantime,The house with sulphur and with flames of fire,And hath, himself, sent me to bid thee down.Follow me, then, that ye may give your heartsTo gladness, both, for ye have much endured;But the event, so long your soul’s desire,60Is come; himself hath to his household GodsAlive return’d, thee and his son he findsUnharm’d and at your home, nor hath he leftUnpunish’d one of all his enemies.Her answer’d, then, Penelope discrete.Ah dearest nurse! indulge not to excessThis dang’rous triumph. Thou art well apprizedHow welcome his appearance here would proveTo all, but chief, to me, and to his son,Fruit of our love. But these things are not so;70Some God, resentful of their evil deeds,And of their biting contumely severe,Hath slain those proud; for whether noble guestArrived or base, alike they scoff’d at all,And for their wickedness have therefore died.But my Ulysses distant far, I know,From Greece hath perish’d, and returns no more.To whom thus Euryclea, nurse belov’d.What word my daughter had escaped thy lips,Who thus affirm’st thy husband, now within80And at his own hearth-side, for ever lost?Canst thou be thus incredulous? Hear again—I give thee yet proof past dispute, his scarImprinted by a wild-boar’s iv’ry tusk.Laving him I remark’d it, and desired,Myself, to tell thee, but he, ever-wise,Compressing with both hands my lips, forbad.Come, follow me. My life shall be the pledge.If I deceive thee, kill me as thou wilt.To whom Penelope, discrete, replied.90Ah, dearest nurse, sagacious as thou art,Thou little know’st to scan the counsels wiseOf the eternal Gods. But let us seekMy son, however, that I may beholdThe suitors dead, and him by whom they died.So saying, she left her chamber, musing muchIn her descent, whether to interrogateHer Lord apart, or whether to imprint,At once, his hands with kisses and his brows.O’erpassing light the portal-step of stone100She enter’d. He sat opposite, illumedBy the hearth’s sprightly blaze, and close beforeA pillar of the dome, waiting with eyesDowncast, till viewing him, his noble spouseShould speak to him; but she sat silent long,Her faculties in mute amazement held.By turns she riveted her eyes on his,And, seeing him so foul attired, by turnsShe recognized him not; then spake her sonTelemachus, and her silence thus reprov’d.110My mother! ah my hapless and my mostObdurate mother! wherefore thus aloofShunn’st thou my father, neither at his sideSitting affectionate, nor utt’ring word?Another wife lives not who could endureSuch distance from her husband new-return’dTo his own country in the twentieth year,After much hardship; but thy heart is stillAs ever, less impressible than stone,To whom Penelope, discrete, replied.120I am all wonder, O my son; my soulIs stunn’d within me; pow’r to speak to himOr to interrogate him have I none,Or ev’n to look on him; but if indeedHe be Ulysses, and have reach’d his home,I shall believe it soon, by proof convincedOf signs known only to himself and me.She said; then smiled the Hero toil-inured,And in wing’d accents thus spake to his son.Leave thou, Telemachus, thy mother here130To sift and prove me; she will know me soonMore certainly; she sees me ill-attiredAnd squalid now; therefore she shews me scorn,And no belief hath yet that I am he.But we have need, thou and myself, of deepDeliberation. If a man have slainOne only citizen, who leaves behindFew interested to avenge his death,Yet, flying, he forsakes both friends and home;But we have slain the noblest Princes far140Of Ithaca, on whom our city mostDepended; therefore, I advise thee, think!Him, prudent, then answer’d Telemachus.Be that thy care, my father! for reportProclaimstheeshrewdest of mankind, with whomIn ingenuity may none compare.Lead thou; to follow thee shall be our partWith prompt alacrity; nor shall, I judge,Courage be wanting to our utmost force.Thus then replied Ulysses, ever-wise.150To me the safest counsel and the bestSeems this. First wash yourselves, and put ye onYour tunics; bid ye, next, the maidens takeTheir best attire, and let the bard divineHarping melodious play a sportive dance,That, whether passenger or neighbour near,All may imagine nuptials held within.So shall not loud report that we have slainAll those, alarm the city, till we gainOur woods and fields, where, once arriv’d, such plans160We will devise, as Jove shall deign to inspire.He spake, and all, obedient, in the bathFirst laved themselves, then put their tunics on;The damsels also dress’d, and the sweet bard,Harping melodious, kindled strong desireIn all, of jocund song and graceful dance.The palace under all its vaulted roofRemurmur’d to the feet of sportive youthsAnd cinctured maidens, while no few abroad,Hearing such revelry within, remark’d—170The Queen with many wooers, weds at last.Ah fickle and unworthy fair! too frailAlways to keep inviolate the houseOf her first Lord, and wait for his return.So spake the people; but they little knewWhat had befall’n. Eurynome, meantime,With bath and unction serv’d the illustrious ChiefUlysses, and he saw himself attiredRoyally once again in his own house.Then, Pallas over all his features shed180Superior beauty, dignified his formWith added amplitude, and pour’d his curlsLike hyacinthine flow’rs down from his brows.As when some artist by Minerva madeAnd Vulcan, wise to execute all tasksIngenious, borders silver with a wreathOf gold, accomplishing a graceful work,Such grace the Goddess o’er his ample chestCopious diffused, and o’er his manly brows.He, godlike, stepping from the bath, resumed190His former seat magnificent, and satOpposite to the Queen, to whom he said.Penelope! the Gods to thee have giv’nOf all thy sex, the most obdurate heart.Another wife lives not who could endureSuch distance from her husband new-return’dTo his own country in the twentieth year,After such hardship. But prepare me, nurse,A bed, for solitary I must sleep,Since she is iron, and feels not for me.200Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.I neither magnify thee, sir! nor yetDepreciate thee, nor is my wonder suchAs hurries me at once into thy arms,Though my remembrance perfectly retains,Such as he was, Ulysses, when he sail’dOn board his bark from Ithaca—Go, nurse,Prepare his bed, but not within the wallsOf his own chamber built with his ownhands.Spread it without, and spread it well with warm210Mantles, with fleeces, and with richest rugs.So spake she, proving him,108and not untouch’dWith anger at that word, thus he replied.Penelope, that order grates my ear.Who hath displaced my bed? The task were hardE’en to an artist; other than a GodNone might with ease remove it; as for man,It might defy the stoutest in his primeOf youth, to heave it to a different spot.For in that bed elaborate, a sign,220A special sign consists; I was myselfThe artificer; I fashion’d it alone.Within the court a leafy olive grewLofty, luxuriant, pillar-like in girth.Around this tree I built, with massy stonesCemented close, my chamber, roof’d it o’er,And hung the glutinated portals on.I lopp’d the ample foliage and the boughs,And sev’ring near the root its solid bole,Smooth’d all the rugged stump with skilful hand,230And wrought it to a pedestal well squaredAnd modell’d by the line. I wimbled, next,The frame throughout, and from the olive-stumpBeginning, fashion’d the whole bed aboveTill all was finish’d, plated o’er with gold,With silver, and with ivory, and beneathClose interlaced with purple cordage strong.Such sign I give thee. But if still it standUnmoved, or if some other, sev’ring sheerThe olive from its bottom, have displaced240My bed—that matter is best known to thee.He ceas’d; she, conscious of the sign so plainGiv’n by Ulysses, heard with flutt’ring heartAnd fault’ring knees that proof. Weeping she ranDirect toward him, threw her arms aroundThe Hero, kiss’d his forehead, and replied.Ah my Ulysses! pardon me—frown not—Thou, who at other times hast ever shewnSuperior wisdom! all our griefs have flow’dFrom the Gods’ will; they envied us the bliss250Of undivided union sweet enjoy’dThrough life, from early youth to latest age.No. Be not angry now; pardon the faultThat I embraced thee not as soon as seen,For horror hath not ceased to overwhelmMy soul, lest some false alien should, perchance,Beguile me, for our house draws num’rous such.Jove’s daughter, Argive Helen, ne’er had givenFree entertainment to a stranger’s love,Had she foreknown that the heroic sons260Of Greece would bring her to her home again.But heav’n incited her to that offence,Who never, else, had even in her thoughtHarbour’d the foul enormity, from whichOriginated even our distress.But now, since evident thou hast describedOur bed, which never mortal yet beheld,Ourselves except and Actoris my ownAttendant, giv’n me when I left my homeBy good Icarius, and who kept the door,270Though hard to be convinced, at last I yield.So saying, she awaken’d in his soulPity and grief; and folding in his armsHis blameless consort beautiful, he wept.Welcome as land appears to those who swim,Whose gallant bark Neptune with rolling wavesAnd stormy winds hath sunk in the wide sea,A mariner or two, perchance, escapeThe foamy flood, and, swimming, reach the land,Weary indeed, and with incrusted brine280All rough, but oh, how glad to climb the coast!So welcome in her eyes Ulysses seem’d,Around whose neck winding her snowy arms,She clung as she would loose him never more.Thus had they wept till rosy-finger’d mornHad found them weeping, but Minerva check’dNight’s almost finish’d course, and held, meantime,The golden dawn close pris’ner in the Deep,Forbidding her to lead her coursers forth,Lampus and Phaëton that furnish light290To all the earth, and join them to the yoke.Then thus, Ulysses to Penelope.My love; we have not yet attain’d the closeOf all our sufferings, but unmeasured toilArduous remains, which I must still atchieve.For so the spirit of the Theban seerInform’d me, on that day, when to enquireOf mine and of my people’s safe returnI journey’d down to Pluto’s drear abode.But let us hence to bed, there to enjoy300Tranquil repose. My love, make no delay.Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.Thou shalt to bed at whatsoever timeThy soul desires, since the immortal GodsGive thee to me and to thy home again.But, thou hast spoken from the seer of ThebesOf arduous toils yet unperform’d; declareWhat toils? Thou wilt disclose them, as I judge,Hereafter, and why not disclose them now?To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.310Ah conversant with woe! why would’st thou learnThat tale? but I will tell it thee at large.Thou wilt not hear with joy, nor shall myselfWith joy rehearse it; for he bade me seekCity after city, bearing, as I go,A shapely oar, till I shall find, at length,A people who the sea know not, nor eatFood salted; they trim galley crimson-prow’dHave ne’er beheld, nor yet smooth-shaven oarWith which the vessel wing’d scuds o’er the waves.320He gave me also this authentic sign,Which I will tell thee. In what place soe’erI chance to meet a trav’ler who shall nameThe oar on my broad shoulder borne, a van;109He bade me, planting it on the same spot,Worship the King of Ocean with a bull,A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seekMy home again, and sacrifice at homeAn hecatomb to the immortal GodsInhabitants of the expanse above.330So shall I die, at length, the gentlest deathRemote from Ocean; it shall find me late,In soft serenity of age, the ChiefOf a blest people.—Thus he prophesied.Him answer’d then Penelope discrete.If heav’n appoint thee in old age a lotMore tranquil, hope thence springs of thy escapeSome future day from all thy threaten’d woes.Such was their mutual conf’rence sweet; meantimeEurynome and Euryclea dress’d340Their bed by light of the clear torch, and whenDispatchful they had spread it broad and deep,The ancient nurse to her own bed retired.Then came Eurynome, to whom in trustThe chambers appertain’d, and with a torchConducted them to rest; she introducedThe happy pair, and went; transported theyTo rites connubial intermitted long,And now recover’d, gave themselves again.110Meantime, the Prince, the herdsman, and the good350Eumæus, giving rest each to his feet,Ceased from the dance; they made the women ceaseAlso, and to their sev’ral chambers allWithin the twilight edifice repair’d.At length, with conjugal endearment bothSatiate, Ulysses tasted and his spouseThe sweets of mutual converse. She rehearsed,Noblest of women, all her num’rous woesBeneath that roof sustain’d, while she beheldThe profligacy of the suitor-throng,360Who in their wooing had consumed his herdsAnd fatted flocks, and drawn his vessels dry;While brave Ulysses, in his turn, to herRelated his successes and escapes,And his afflictions also; he told her all;She listen’d charm’d, nor slumber on his eyesFell once, or ere he had rehearsed the whole.Beginning, he discoursed, how, at the firstHe conquer’d in Ciconia, and thence reach’dThe fruitful shores of the Lotophagi;370The Cyclops’ deeds he told her next, and howHe well avenged on him his slaughter’d friendsWhom, pitiless, the monster had devour’d.How to the isle of Æolus he came,Who welcom’d him and safe dismiss’d him thence,Although not destin’d to regain so soonHis native land; for o’er the fishy deepLoud tempests snatch’d him sighing back again.How, also at Telepylus he arrived,Town of the Læstrygonians, who destroyed380His ships with all their mariners, his ownExcept, who in his sable bark escaped.Of guileful Circe too he spake, deep-skill’dIn various artifice, and how he reach’dWith sails and oars the squalid realms of death,Desirous to consult the prophet thereTheban Tiresias, and how there he view’dAll his companions, and the mother blandWho bare him, nourisher of his infant years.How, next he heard the Sirens in one strain390All chiming sweet, and how he reach’d the rocksErratic, Scylla and Charybdis dire,Which none secure from injury may pass.Then, how the partners of his voyage slewThe Sun’s own beeves, and how the Thund’rer JoveHurl’d down his smoky bolts into his bark,Depriving him at once of all his crew,Whose dreadful fate he yet, himself, escaped.How to Ogygia’s isle he came, where dweltThe nymph Calypso, who, enamour’d, wish’d400To espouse him, and within her spacious grotDetain’d, and fed, and promis’d him a lifeExempt for ever from the sap of age,But him moved not. How, also, he arrivedAfter much toil, on the Phæacian coast,Where ev’ry heart revered him as a God,And whence, enriching him with brass and gold,And costly raiment first, they sent him home.At this last word, oblivious slumber sweetFell on him, dissipating all his cares.410Meantime, Minerva, Goddess azure-eyed,On other thoughts intent, soon as she deem’dUlysses with connubial joys sufficed,And with sweet sleep, at once from Ocean rous’dThe golden-axled chariot of the mornTo illumine earth. Then from his fleecy couchThe Hero sprang, and thus his spouse enjoined.Oh consort dear! already we have striv’nAgainst our lot, till wearied with the toil,My painful absence, thou with ceaseless tears420Deploring, and myself in deep distressWithheld reluctant from my native shoresBy Jove and by the other pow’rs of heav’n.But since we have in this delightful bedMet once again, watch thou and keep secureAll my domestic treasures, and ere longI will replace my num’rous sheep destroy’dBy those imperious suitors, and the GreeksShall add yet others till my folds be fill’d.But to the woodlands go I now—to see430My noble father, who for my sake mournsContinual; as for thee, my love, althoughI know thee wise, I give thee thus in charge.The sun no sooner shall ascend, than fameShall wide divulge the deed that I have done,Slaying the suitors under my own roof.Thou, therefore, with thy maidens, sit retiredIn thy own chamber at the palace-top,Nor question ask, nor, curious, look abroad.He said, and cov’ring with his radiant arms440His shoulders, called Telemachus; he rousedEumæus and the herdsman too, and badeAll take their martial weapons in their hand.Not disobedient they, as he enjoin’d,Put armour on, and issued from the gatesUlysses at their head. The earth was nowEnlighten’d, but Minerva them in hasteLed forth into the fields, unseen by all.
And now, with exultation loud the nurseAgain ascended, eager to apprizeThe Queen of her Ulysses’ safe return;Joy braced her knees, with nimbleness of youthShe stepp’d, and at her ear, her thus bespake.Arise, Penelope! dear daughter, seeWith thy own eyes thy daily wish fulfill’d.Ulysses is arrived; hath reach’d at lastHis native home, and all those suitors proudHath slaughter’d, who his family distress’d,10His substance wasted, and controul’d his son.To whom Penelope discrete replied.Dear nurse! the Gods have surely ta’en awayThy judgment; they transform the wise to fools,And fools conduct to wisdom, and have marr’dThy intellect, who wast discrete before.Why wilt thou mock me, wretched as I am,With tales extravagant? and why disturbThose slumbers sweet that seal’d so fast mine eyes?For such sweet slumbers have I never known20Since my Ulysses on his voyage sail’dTo that bad city never to be named.Down instant to thy place again—begone—For had another of my maidens daredDisturb my sleep with tidings wild as these,I had dismiss’d her down into the houseMore roughly; but thine age excusesthee.To whom the venerable matron thus.I mock thee not, my child; no—he is come—Himself, Ulysses, even as I say,30That stranger, object of the scorn of all.Telemachus well knew his sire arrived,But prudently conceal’d the tidings, soTo insure the more the suitors’ punishment.So Euryclea she transported heard,And springing from the bed, wrapp’d in her armsThe ancient woman shedding tears of joy,And in wing’d accents ardent thus replied.Ah then, dear nurse inform me! tell me true!Hath he indeed arriv’d as thou declar’st?40How dared he to assail alone that bandOf shameless ones, for ever swarming here?Then Euryclea, thus, matron belov’d.I nothing saw or knew; but only heardGroans of the wounded; in th’ interior houseWe trembling sat, and ev’ry door was fast.Thus all remain’d till by his father sent,Thy own son call’d me forth. Going, I foundUlysses compass’d by the slaughter’d dead.They cover’d wide the pavement, heaps on heaps.50It would have cheer’d thy heart to have beheldThy husband lion-like with crimson stainsOf slaughter and of dust all dappled o’er;Heap’d in the portal, at this moment, lieTheir bodies, and he fumigates, meantime,The house with sulphur and with flames of fire,And hath, himself, sent me to bid thee down.Follow me, then, that ye may give your heartsTo gladness, both, for ye have much endured;But the event, so long your soul’s desire,60Is come; himself hath to his household GodsAlive return’d, thee and his son he findsUnharm’d and at your home, nor hath he leftUnpunish’d one of all his enemies.Her answer’d, then, Penelope discrete.Ah dearest nurse! indulge not to excessThis dang’rous triumph. Thou art well apprizedHow welcome his appearance here would proveTo all, but chief, to me, and to his son,Fruit of our love. But these things are not so;70Some God, resentful of their evil deeds,And of their biting contumely severe,Hath slain those proud; for whether noble guestArrived or base, alike they scoff’d at all,And for their wickedness have therefore died.But my Ulysses distant far, I know,From Greece hath perish’d, and returns no more.To whom thus Euryclea, nurse belov’d.What word my daughter had escaped thy lips,Who thus affirm’st thy husband, now within80And at his own hearth-side, for ever lost?Canst thou be thus incredulous? Hear again—I give thee yet proof past dispute, his scarImprinted by a wild-boar’s iv’ry tusk.Laving him I remark’d it, and desired,Myself, to tell thee, but he, ever-wise,Compressing with both hands my lips, forbad.Come, follow me. My life shall be the pledge.If I deceive thee, kill me as thou wilt.To whom Penelope, discrete, replied.90Ah, dearest nurse, sagacious as thou art,Thou little know’st to scan the counsels wiseOf the eternal Gods. But let us seekMy son, however, that I may beholdThe suitors dead, and him by whom they died.So saying, she left her chamber, musing muchIn her descent, whether to interrogateHer Lord apart, or whether to imprint,At once, his hands with kisses and his brows.O’erpassing light the portal-step of stone100She enter’d. He sat opposite, illumedBy the hearth’s sprightly blaze, and close beforeA pillar of the dome, waiting with eyesDowncast, till viewing him, his noble spouseShould speak to him; but she sat silent long,Her faculties in mute amazement held.By turns she riveted her eyes on his,And, seeing him so foul attired, by turnsShe recognized him not; then spake her sonTelemachus, and her silence thus reprov’d.110My mother! ah my hapless and my mostObdurate mother! wherefore thus aloofShunn’st thou my father, neither at his sideSitting affectionate, nor utt’ring word?Another wife lives not who could endureSuch distance from her husband new-return’dTo his own country in the twentieth year,After much hardship; but thy heart is stillAs ever, less impressible than stone,To whom Penelope, discrete, replied.120I am all wonder, O my son; my soulIs stunn’d within me; pow’r to speak to himOr to interrogate him have I none,Or ev’n to look on him; but if indeedHe be Ulysses, and have reach’d his home,I shall believe it soon, by proof convincedOf signs known only to himself and me.She said; then smiled the Hero toil-inured,And in wing’d accents thus spake to his son.Leave thou, Telemachus, thy mother here130To sift and prove me; she will know me soonMore certainly; she sees me ill-attiredAnd squalid now; therefore she shews me scorn,And no belief hath yet that I am he.But we have need, thou and myself, of deepDeliberation. If a man have slainOne only citizen, who leaves behindFew interested to avenge his death,Yet, flying, he forsakes both friends and home;But we have slain the noblest Princes far140Of Ithaca, on whom our city mostDepended; therefore, I advise thee, think!Him, prudent, then answer’d Telemachus.Be that thy care, my father! for reportProclaimstheeshrewdest of mankind, with whomIn ingenuity may none compare.Lead thou; to follow thee shall be our partWith prompt alacrity; nor shall, I judge,Courage be wanting to our utmost force.Thus then replied Ulysses, ever-wise.150To me the safest counsel and the bestSeems this. First wash yourselves, and put ye onYour tunics; bid ye, next, the maidens takeTheir best attire, and let the bard divineHarping melodious play a sportive dance,That, whether passenger or neighbour near,All may imagine nuptials held within.So shall not loud report that we have slainAll those, alarm the city, till we gainOur woods and fields, where, once arriv’d, such plans160We will devise, as Jove shall deign to inspire.He spake, and all, obedient, in the bathFirst laved themselves, then put their tunics on;The damsels also dress’d, and the sweet bard,Harping melodious, kindled strong desireIn all, of jocund song and graceful dance.The palace under all its vaulted roofRemurmur’d to the feet of sportive youthsAnd cinctured maidens, while no few abroad,Hearing such revelry within, remark’d—170The Queen with many wooers, weds at last.Ah fickle and unworthy fair! too frailAlways to keep inviolate the houseOf her first Lord, and wait for his return.So spake the people; but they little knewWhat had befall’n. Eurynome, meantime,With bath and unction serv’d the illustrious ChiefUlysses, and he saw himself attiredRoyally once again in his own house.Then, Pallas over all his features shed180Superior beauty, dignified his formWith added amplitude, and pour’d his curlsLike hyacinthine flow’rs down from his brows.As when some artist by Minerva madeAnd Vulcan, wise to execute all tasksIngenious, borders silver with a wreathOf gold, accomplishing a graceful work,Such grace the Goddess o’er his ample chestCopious diffused, and o’er his manly brows.He, godlike, stepping from the bath, resumed190His former seat magnificent, and satOpposite to the Queen, to whom he said.Penelope! the Gods to thee have giv’nOf all thy sex, the most obdurate heart.Another wife lives not who could endureSuch distance from her husband new-return’dTo his own country in the twentieth year,After such hardship. But prepare me, nurse,A bed, for solitary I must sleep,Since she is iron, and feels not for me.200Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.I neither magnify thee, sir! nor yetDepreciate thee, nor is my wonder suchAs hurries me at once into thy arms,Though my remembrance perfectly retains,Such as he was, Ulysses, when he sail’dOn board his bark from Ithaca—Go, nurse,Prepare his bed, but not within the wallsOf his own chamber built with his ownhands.Spread it without, and spread it well with warm210Mantles, with fleeces, and with richest rugs.So spake she, proving him,108and not untouch’dWith anger at that word, thus he replied.Penelope, that order grates my ear.Who hath displaced my bed? The task were hardE’en to an artist; other than a GodNone might with ease remove it; as for man,It might defy the stoutest in his primeOf youth, to heave it to a different spot.For in that bed elaborate, a sign,220A special sign consists; I was myselfThe artificer; I fashion’d it alone.Within the court a leafy olive grewLofty, luxuriant, pillar-like in girth.Around this tree I built, with massy stonesCemented close, my chamber, roof’d it o’er,And hung the glutinated portals on.I lopp’d the ample foliage and the boughs,And sev’ring near the root its solid bole,Smooth’d all the rugged stump with skilful hand,230And wrought it to a pedestal well squaredAnd modell’d by the line. I wimbled, next,The frame throughout, and from the olive-stumpBeginning, fashion’d the whole bed aboveTill all was finish’d, plated o’er with gold,With silver, and with ivory, and beneathClose interlaced with purple cordage strong.Such sign I give thee. But if still it standUnmoved, or if some other, sev’ring sheerThe olive from its bottom, have displaced240My bed—that matter is best known to thee.He ceas’d; she, conscious of the sign so plainGiv’n by Ulysses, heard with flutt’ring heartAnd fault’ring knees that proof. Weeping she ranDirect toward him, threw her arms aroundThe Hero, kiss’d his forehead, and replied.Ah my Ulysses! pardon me—frown not—Thou, who at other times hast ever shewnSuperior wisdom! all our griefs have flow’dFrom the Gods’ will; they envied us the bliss250Of undivided union sweet enjoy’dThrough life, from early youth to latest age.No. Be not angry now; pardon the faultThat I embraced thee not as soon as seen,For horror hath not ceased to overwhelmMy soul, lest some false alien should, perchance,Beguile me, for our house draws num’rous such.Jove’s daughter, Argive Helen, ne’er had givenFree entertainment to a stranger’s love,Had she foreknown that the heroic sons260Of Greece would bring her to her home again.But heav’n incited her to that offence,Who never, else, had even in her thoughtHarbour’d the foul enormity, from whichOriginated even our distress.But now, since evident thou hast describedOur bed, which never mortal yet beheld,Ourselves except and Actoris my ownAttendant, giv’n me when I left my homeBy good Icarius, and who kept the door,270Though hard to be convinced, at last I yield.So saying, she awaken’d in his soulPity and grief; and folding in his armsHis blameless consort beautiful, he wept.Welcome as land appears to those who swim,Whose gallant bark Neptune with rolling wavesAnd stormy winds hath sunk in the wide sea,A mariner or two, perchance, escapeThe foamy flood, and, swimming, reach the land,Weary indeed, and with incrusted brine280All rough, but oh, how glad to climb the coast!So welcome in her eyes Ulysses seem’d,Around whose neck winding her snowy arms,She clung as she would loose him never more.Thus had they wept till rosy-finger’d mornHad found them weeping, but Minerva check’dNight’s almost finish’d course, and held, meantime,The golden dawn close pris’ner in the Deep,Forbidding her to lead her coursers forth,Lampus and Phaëton that furnish light290To all the earth, and join them to the yoke.Then thus, Ulysses to Penelope.My love; we have not yet attain’d the closeOf all our sufferings, but unmeasured toilArduous remains, which I must still atchieve.For so the spirit of the Theban seerInform’d me, on that day, when to enquireOf mine and of my people’s safe returnI journey’d down to Pluto’s drear abode.But let us hence to bed, there to enjoy300Tranquil repose. My love, make no delay.Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.Thou shalt to bed at whatsoever timeThy soul desires, since the immortal GodsGive thee to me and to thy home again.But, thou hast spoken from the seer of ThebesOf arduous toils yet unperform’d; declareWhat toils? Thou wilt disclose them, as I judge,Hereafter, and why not disclose them now?To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.310Ah conversant with woe! why would’st thou learnThat tale? but I will tell it thee at large.Thou wilt not hear with joy, nor shall myselfWith joy rehearse it; for he bade me seekCity after city, bearing, as I go,A shapely oar, till I shall find, at length,A people who the sea know not, nor eatFood salted; they trim galley crimson-prow’dHave ne’er beheld, nor yet smooth-shaven oarWith which the vessel wing’d scuds o’er the waves.320He gave me also this authentic sign,Which I will tell thee. In what place soe’erI chance to meet a trav’ler who shall nameThe oar on my broad shoulder borne, a van;109He bade me, planting it on the same spot,Worship the King of Ocean with a bull,A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seekMy home again, and sacrifice at homeAn hecatomb to the immortal GodsInhabitants of the expanse above.330So shall I die, at length, the gentlest deathRemote from Ocean; it shall find me late,In soft serenity of age, the ChiefOf a blest people.—Thus he prophesied.Him answer’d then Penelope discrete.If heav’n appoint thee in old age a lotMore tranquil, hope thence springs of thy escapeSome future day from all thy threaten’d woes.Such was their mutual conf’rence sweet; meantimeEurynome and Euryclea dress’d340Their bed by light of the clear torch, and whenDispatchful they had spread it broad and deep,The ancient nurse to her own bed retired.Then came Eurynome, to whom in trustThe chambers appertain’d, and with a torchConducted them to rest; she introducedThe happy pair, and went; transported theyTo rites connubial intermitted long,And now recover’d, gave themselves again.110Meantime, the Prince, the herdsman, and the good350Eumæus, giving rest each to his feet,Ceased from the dance; they made the women ceaseAlso, and to their sev’ral chambers allWithin the twilight edifice repair’d.At length, with conjugal endearment bothSatiate, Ulysses tasted and his spouseThe sweets of mutual converse. She rehearsed,Noblest of women, all her num’rous woesBeneath that roof sustain’d, while she beheldThe profligacy of the suitor-throng,360Who in their wooing had consumed his herdsAnd fatted flocks, and drawn his vessels dry;While brave Ulysses, in his turn, to herRelated his successes and escapes,And his afflictions also; he told her all;She listen’d charm’d, nor slumber on his eyesFell once, or ere he had rehearsed the whole.Beginning, he discoursed, how, at the firstHe conquer’d in Ciconia, and thence reach’dThe fruitful shores of the Lotophagi;370The Cyclops’ deeds he told her next, and howHe well avenged on him his slaughter’d friendsWhom, pitiless, the monster had devour’d.How to the isle of Æolus he came,Who welcom’d him and safe dismiss’d him thence,Although not destin’d to regain so soonHis native land; for o’er the fishy deepLoud tempests snatch’d him sighing back again.How, also at Telepylus he arrived,Town of the Læstrygonians, who destroyed380His ships with all their mariners, his ownExcept, who in his sable bark escaped.Of guileful Circe too he spake, deep-skill’dIn various artifice, and how he reach’dWith sails and oars the squalid realms of death,Desirous to consult the prophet thereTheban Tiresias, and how there he view’dAll his companions, and the mother blandWho bare him, nourisher of his infant years.How, next he heard the Sirens in one strain390All chiming sweet, and how he reach’d the rocksErratic, Scylla and Charybdis dire,Which none secure from injury may pass.Then, how the partners of his voyage slewThe Sun’s own beeves, and how the Thund’rer JoveHurl’d down his smoky bolts into his bark,Depriving him at once of all his crew,Whose dreadful fate he yet, himself, escaped.How to Ogygia’s isle he came, where dweltThe nymph Calypso, who, enamour’d, wish’d400To espouse him, and within her spacious grotDetain’d, and fed, and promis’d him a lifeExempt for ever from the sap of age,But him moved not. How, also, he arrivedAfter much toil, on the Phæacian coast,Where ev’ry heart revered him as a God,And whence, enriching him with brass and gold,And costly raiment first, they sent him home.At this last word, oblivious slumber sweetFell on him, dissipating all his cares.410Meantime, Minerva, Goddess azure-eyed,On other thoughts intent, soon as she deem’dUlysses with connubial joys sufficed,And with sweet sleep, at once from Ocean rous’dThe golden-axled chariot of the mornTo illumine earth. Then from his fleecy couchThe Hero sprang, and thus his spouse enjoined.Oh consort dear! already we have striv’nAgainst our lot, till wearied with the toil,My painful absence, thou with ceaseless tears420Deploring, and myself in deep distressWithheld reluctant from my native shoresBy Jove and by the other pow’rs of heav’n.But since we have in this delightful bedMet once again, watch thou and keep secureAll my domestic treasures, and ere longI will replace my num’rous sheep destroy’dBy those imperious suitors, and the GreeksShall add yet others till my folds be fill’d.But to the woodlands go I now—to see430My noble father, who for my sake mournsContinual; as for thee, my love, althoughI know thee wise, I give thee thus in charge.The sun no sooner shall ascend, than fameShall wide divulge the deed that I have done,Slaying the suitors under my own roof.Thou, therefore, with thy maidens, sit retiredIn thy own chamber at the palace-top,Nor question ask, nor, curious, look abroad.He said, and cov’ring with his radiant arms440His shoulders, called Telemachus; he rousedEumæus and the herdsman too, and badeAll take their martial weapons in their hand.Not disobedient they, as he enjoin’d,Put armour on, and issued from the gatesUlysses at their head. The earth was nowEnlighten’d, but Minerva them in hasteLed forth into the fields, unseen by all.
108The proof consisted in this—that the bed being attached to the stump of an olive tree still rooted, was immovable, and Ulysses having made it himself, no person present, he must needs be apprized of the impossibility of her orders, if he were indeed Ulysses; accordingly, this demonstration of his identity satisfies all her scruples.109Seethe noteon the same passage, Book XI.110Aristophanes the grammarian and Aristarchus chose that the Odyssey should end here; but the story is not properly concluded till the tumult occasioned by the slaughter of so many Princes being composed, Ulysses finds himself once more in peaceful possession of his country.
108The proof consisted in this—that the bed being attached to the stump of an olive tree still rooted, was immovable, and Ulysses having made it himself, no person present, he must needs be apprized of the impossibility of her orders, if he were indeed Ulysses; accordingly, this demonstration of his identity satisfies all her scruples.
108The proof consisted in this—that the bed being attached to the stump of an olive tree still rooted, was immovable, and Ulysses having made it himself, no person present, he must needs be apprized of the impossibility of her orders, if he were indeed Ulysses; accordingly, this demonstration of his identity satisfies all her scruples.
109Seethe noteon the same passage, Book XI.
109Seethe noteon the same passage, Book XI.
110Aristophanes the grammarian and Aristarchus chose that the Odyssey should end here; but the story is not properly concluded till the tumult occasioned by the slaughter of so many Princes being composed, Ulysses finds himself once more in peaceful possession of his country.
110Aristophanes the grammarian and Aristarchus chose that the Odyssey should end here; but the story is not properly concluded till the tumult occasioned by the slaughter of so many Princes being composed, Ulysses finds himself once more in peaceful possession of his country.